The Last Day of the Apocalypse
by jennytork
Summary: When a mouthy pagan god accidentally sets Dean's brain whirling, what if he stumbles onto the key to stopping the Apocalypse? What role does belief have in it all? Season 5 AU


The words rang in his head, again and again. Waking or sleeping, they taunted him. Words from the Father of Lies, dripping like poisoned honey from the lips of his brother's emptied shell.

"No matter what happens – no matter what you do – we will always end up here. We will always. End. Up. Here."

Dean couldn't believe that. He wouldn't believe that. Somehow, some way, he and Sam would find a way to thwart the perverse destiny that both sides claimed was laid out for them. He had to believe that, or he would go mad.

The brothers had just battled a Leshii and had barely come out of it uneaten. The creature was now dead at the end of a Sam-wielded iron axe, and the brothers were at Bobby's, recovering in relative safety. If things went on the way that the powers that be had planned for the brothers, they would keep flailing about for weeks, desperate and grasping and failing while things went from bad to worse to – frankly – apocalyptic.

Except Dean couldn't sleep, for the devil's words battering his skull. He finally abandoned the attempt and drifted into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. He found some whiskey and was looking for a relatively clean glass when smething else tickled at his brain.

The Leshii had pontificated as it had held them helpless. At the time, Dean hadn't thought anything of it. He'd been more focused on getting loose and getting the creature dead. But now, something it had said seemingly leapt out at him of its own accord.

The creature had gone on and on about idolatry, about worship. About...

Dean set down the alcohol, his eyes widening as it hit him like a sucker punch. "...belief," he whispered, leaning on the sink as he tried to get his mental footing. "It was talking about belief."

Spinning on his heels, Dean bee-lined directly for Bobby's library. He wasn't as familiar with it as Sam was, but he knew his way around enough to find what he was looking for. When he found it, he scrambled to put down on paper the pattern his whirling brain was forming.

 _Leshii – strengthened by worshipers  
Creepy Christmas couple – strengthened by worshipers_

 _Tulpa – came into being and abilities altered just by people believing in it_

 _records of luck being altered by belief_

 _legends of gods manipulating reality in accordance to belief_

Dean stared at the paper, running a shaking hand over his mouth and chin. He had the craziest feeling he might be on to something. But what?

Leaning back in the chair, Dean let his eyes roam around the room while his brain spun. They landed on a half-constructed box Bobby had been carving sigils into the night before. Dean suddenly leaned forward. "...curse box..."

 _curse box  
rabbit's foot - good luck then sour luck _

_New Orleans – didn't Dad say BOTH SIDES had to believe for curses to have power?_

Sam frowned as Dean bombed into their room, crashing to his knees next to his duffel bag. "...dude, what..."

"Dad's Journal," Dean said, pawing through his clothes. "Need Dad's Journal."

"I was reading it last night," Sam said. "Seeing if there was anything about the Leshii or anything similar in it. It's on the desk. Why?"

"I'm not sure yet. Got a wild hare." He sat down and fished the battered leather from under the pile of papers covered in Sam's handwriting, flipping it open and scanning the familiar writing.

"What time is it?"

"Don't know. Isn't important." He jammed a finger onto the page. "Yahtzee."

"Found something?" Sam got out of bed and drifted to read over Dean's shoulder. "Dude – why are you reading about voodoo?"

Dean grinned up at him with an intensity that Sam recognised instantly. Somehow, someway, his big brother had cooked up a plan. "Sammy, get cleaned up and meet me downstairs." He stood up and headed toward the door.

"Wait," Sam blinked, brain buzzing. "Dean, what's going on? What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get the crap together for a summoning spell. I think I know how to keep Satan from wearing you like a cheap suit."

"A summ- Dean, who the hell are you going to summon?"

"Michael." Dean closed the door.

"Mi- w- _Dean, wait!"_

"Boy, you are five shades of crazy," Bobby snarled as he wheeled around the doorway. "Sam's nearly incoherent with worry and you're in here calmly-"

"Sammy's what?" Dean's hands paused. He blinked at Bobby, then stood and ran from the room, all but colliding with Sam on the stairs.

"What the hell?" they chorused, grabbing onto each others' arms.

"Why are you worried?" Dean demanded.

"Why are you summoning Michael?" Sam countered.

"Sammy, I told you upstairs!"

"You told me nothing except you knew how to keep Lucifer out! Then you say you're summoning Michael and all I can think of is you're going to say yes and-"

"Whoa, whoa, no!" Dean tugged him the rest of the way down the stairs and into a hug, startling his brother into silence. "No, that's not why. Sorry, Sammy, I could have sworn I told you. C'mon, let's get some coffee into you and tell you what I'm thinking."

Realising that this was not a grand secret keeping, this was just Dean getting so excited by a puzzle and a plan that he thought he'd said more than he had, Sam nodded. "All right. Okay."

Bobby shook his head. "I was right. And wrong."

"About what?" Sam asked.

He glared at Dean. "You ain't five shades of crazy. You're _iten/i_ shades of crazy."

Dean shrugged. "It's been said. If nothing else, it's a plan. A plan that could give us a shot."

"Or you could end up being touched by an angel, and not in the good way!"

"I'll admit, it's a risk – but I'm willing to take it if it gives us any kind of shot at all!"

Sam thought for a long moment, then nodded. "I don't like it."

Dean smiled slightly. "Me either. And I really hate that it has to be me."

"You do?"

"Yeah, you're so much better at this kind of thing than I am."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. So it has to be you because-"

"It's Michael," Bobby said. "And Dean's supposedly his true vessel."

"So what do you want us to do?" Sam asked.

"Be with me," Dean replied. "But you can't, not for this..."

"Fifteen shades of crazy," Bobby interrupted. "There's other ways of being there than physically and you know it."

Dean paused, then a slow grin began to spread across his face.

The sight of it made Sam's spirits lift. "Let's do this."

Dean looked around at the back lot of the Salvage Yard and took a deep breath. He finished the summoning spell.

He wasn't particularly surprised at who showed up. "Should have known you'd show instead of Michael."

Zachariah huffed at him. "Michael has better things to do than to answer a summons by the likes of you. Unless..."

"I'll say it to him," Dean growled out. "Not to you. To him. Face to face."

Zachariah blinked. "...seriously?"

"Seriously. I'll do it. To him. You? I still owe a stab in the face."

"Why you self-important-"

"You'd know one," Dean interrupted. "So let's get this show on the road. Get him here, I'll say the magic word, this can be done, and we can all go home."

"What about your brother saying yes to Lucifer?"

"I have been told," Dean said slowly, "that he eventually does say yes. Matter of fact, that's one of the things I want to talk to Michael about." His eyes narrowed. "Now get him here!"

"You do not order me around, you sanctimonious mud-monkey! You're nothing! You're worthless! You're-"

"The one who summoned Michael, so why the hell are you wasting everybody's time?" Dean shot.

Zachariah raised a hand, and an impossible voice suddenly demanded, "Zachariah. Cease."

The bald angel froze and Dean swallowed hard. "I should have known," he said slowly. "If I'm your vessel -"

John Winchester, circa 2005, walked up to stand beside Zachariah. "You are dismissed." The bald angel vanished and the face of Dean's father softened. "I am here. There is something you wish to tell me?"

"Oh, there's a whole lot I wish to tell you," Dean said, a bit more sarcastically than he intended. He swept a hand toward where he and Sam had set up a pair of bench seats from some junked cars. "And I ain't gonna say it on my feet. Sit down." Belatedly, he added, "Please."

When they both were seated, Dean began, "Okay, first of all, I have a question. Did you take him from Jericho, California, about five years ago?"

"I fail to see the relevance of the question, but yes I did."

Dean exhaled sharply and shook his head. "That explains a lot. All right. Before I say what you expect me to, I have a couple more questions for you."

"Why are you wasting our time, Dean?"

He smiled slightly. "If you'd just hear me out, I think you'll find I'm really not. I'm just trying to get some clarity, here. If my dad's in there, you can check and see that I'm really good at that."

A long moment passed, then Michael gave a huff of amusement that was too familiar to Dean. "Yes, he agrees. And for some reason, he wants me to ask you the password?"

"Dad, just relax in there. Trust me. And what you're lookin' for, Dad, is Palo Alto."

Michael blinked. "Why did that make him go still? What is a Palo Alto?"

"I just told him my brother is close by and safe. That's all he wanted to know. Now – please – indulge me."

"Very well, Dean. Ask your questions. It will change nothing."

Dean nodded. "Would you change your course if I showed you proof that this entire Apocalypse Now scenario might not be your Father's plan?"

To his credit, Michael went silent, considering. After a long moment, he said, "I am my Father's son. The oldest of the archangels. I am committed to following my Father's will. If you can prove to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is not His will? Then yes, I will change course."

"How many angels are there, Michael? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Cause I know there are tens of thousands of demons, and your forces are about even."

"I'd like to know why you are interested in our numbers."

Dean grinned. "Because with a few exceptions, each and every one of those tens of thousands, on both sides, believes in this plan, Whole-heartedly."

"Yes."

"And that means that this is the way it is going to go."

"That is fact."

"Well, what if I told you that there are at least five billion souls that do not believe in this plan? Not that they're ignorant, but that they do not believe in _this_ plan?" Michael frowned, and Dean plowed on. "Belief in something is power in it – positive or negative. Here, you have thousands on thousands who believe." He held out a cupped hand. "And here, you have several _billions_ who do not." He held out his other cupped hand, and lowered it slowly like the balance tipped.

Michael just stared, eyes widening slightly.

Dean lowered his hands and leaned forward slightly. "What if I told you that this isn't God's plan because it does not benefit humanity? The paradise you're trying to create is for angels only. We are being treated like cannon fodder."

"...but that's not..."

"And finally, what if I told you that that thing that's storming about the world causing havoc isn't Lucifer at all?"

"Explain."

"The Bible says that Lucifer prowls the earth. The Koran says that Iblis – another name for him - was banished from Heaven, not put in a cage. You have memories of caging your brother, but are you certain that brother was Lucifer?"

Michael's mouth worked for a moment, as he cast his memory back, and his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Dean Winchester," he said suddenly, his voice crackling with power.

Dean swallowed hard. "I'm... listening."

"Your words have the ring of divine truth. This course of action benefits none and brings no glory to my Father, only to the angels."

Dean nodded. "This isn't God's plan, Michael. This is a bored family tearing each other apart."

"Go inside your dwelling. I shall return when this is over." Between one heartbeat and the next, Dean was alone.

Shakily, he stood and walked inside. "How'd it go?" Sam asked. "...you're...still you, right?"

"I'm still me, Sammy. He's wearin' Dad. And I... I don't know what he's going to do. But, dude..." Dean swallowed hard. "I think I pissed him off."

Bobby groaned. "Well, that just made everything much better, didn't it?" He spun his wheelchair around and wheeled toward the kitchen. The brothers thought they heard him mutter something about twenty kinds of crazy.

Michael returned several hours later. Both brothers and Bobby met him on the porch of the house and he said, "You were correct, Dean. What lay beneath this plan was not my Father's will. It has been dealt with."

"How?" Bobby asked.

"You were correct. It was not Lucifer, but one of his agents posing as him. He has been destroyed. The seals are being re-created as we speak, and the first and last ones are being strengthened. Your family was unfairly manipulated, and there is nothing I can say that will make up for that."

"Just... leave us alone," Dean said. "That's all we want – no Apocalypse, no destiny crap – just, just leave us alone."

Michael nodded and vanished.

All three let out a deep sigh. "That's it?" Sam blinked. "...Dude, did you just Mister Spock us out of Apocalypse Now?"

"I think... I might have," Dean said, awed.

"He did," Castiel said, walking toward the porch. "And Heaven wants to reward you for it. We were duped. Blind. But you saw."

Dean frowned. "Reward us?"

Castiel broke into a broad smile, like they had never seen on him before. "I am here. To stay. And I am well. That is half the reward, that you no longer have to worry about me."

"And the other half?" Sam asked.

Castiel held out his hand and two figures came around the corner. Both brothers cried out and bolted.

"What the hell," Bobby breathed as Castiel lifted him out of the wheelchair, healing him. "Now, this is going to be interesting."

"I know," Castiel laughed softly, watching Sam and Dean hugging their parents with all their emotions on full display. "It certainly is."

END


End file.
